What's This In Reference To?
by ArcaFeretory
Summary: A collection of exceedingly short stories that never quite made it off the ground. Most were written with the sole purpose of referencing things I like and/or find amusing. As always, Bubbline is the main offender.
1. Chapter 1

**Sometimes I have ideas for a story that don't pan out the way I expected. They usually end up really short, between 400-800 words on most occasions. Since they're not really worth any extra effort, I just leave them. But, since they exist, I thought I'd share. Often they're based on a totally random idea or fragment of conversation and nothing else. Some will have been written with the sole purpose of throwing in a reference to something. Some will just be word vomit. c:**

**Digital cookies and/or virtual livestock will be awarded to anyone who can guess (or recognises) the references I make in any given chapter. Some will be easier than most. If you guess this particular reference, I'll give you an internet high-five for being awesome as well.**

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><p><strong>With The Pencil Case, In The...?<strong>

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><p>The door opened slowly and Marceline's eyes fell until she found the face of the little man who had just opened it. She blinked at him lazily, a smirk trying to creep across her face. She slapped it away.<p>

"And you are?" he asked in an annoyingly nasal tone.

"Marceline. Who are you?" she fired back.

"The butler."

She flashed him a smile. "Great. So what do you do?"

His little black eyes were completely without emotion when he said, "I buttle."

Marceline couldn't choke back the laughter that threatened to escape then. "Awesome. Where's Bonnie?"

He regarded her blankly some more, then arched a slender eyebrow as if questioning her right to breathe the same air as him. "I don't see how that's any concern of yours."

"Peter!" Bonnie called from within the dark of the house. "Who's at the door?"

"Some low life full of metal who calls herself 'Marceline'," he hollered back.

The silence that drifted through the building then was pretty much palpable. Marceline shuffled her feet on the stoop and peered down at the self-proclaimed 'butler'.

"Can I come in?" she muttered at him.

He ignored her.

That's when Bonnie came hurtling down the stairs. Her hair was a mess, her glasses sat crookedly on her nose and she was wearing nothing but a nightgown. Marceline went red.

"Marceline!" she cried as if actually surprised that it was true. "What are you doing here? Let her in, Peter."

With muffled grumbles, her _butler_ did just that. Marceline had to resist the urge to pat him on the head. "Oh…" Marceline sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "Just stopped by. Also you left your pencil case in my car." She waved the offending item in the space between them.

"God, I've been looking _everywhere_ for that," she declared, flouncing down the last few steps to snatch it away. "Thanks. Would you like to come up?"

"Sure," Marceline replied absently, still staring at the décor and sheer _size_ of the house. "I think somewhere in the six months we've been together you might've failed to mention your family is rich."

"Who says we're rich?"

Marceline gave her a flat look before pointedly eyeing a tapestry – _tapestry_ – on one wall. "Seriously? You have a butler and…" she motioned ahead of herself at the stairs. "What is that? It's like the Hogwarts grand entrance or something. You live in a _palace_, B."

Bonnie just smiled. "Yeah. And _everything_ here is oversized." She lifted an eyebrow and her smile suddenly didn't look as innocent as Marceline was used to.

"This is your parents' house," she hissed as the blonde bounced back up the stairs.

"They're not home."

"Your butler is."

"Are you coming or not?"

Marceline rolled her eyes. "I'm not yet, but I have a feeling you want to fix that."

Bonnie just laughed. The sound was musical.


	2. Chapter 2

**I suppose you can read into this... If you want.**

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><p><strong>You Know, That Little Droid Is Going To Cause Me A Lot Of Trouble<strong>

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><p>There was something about conventions that had always bothered Marceline. Why people go to all the effort of dressing up was one part. It was pointless. You'd put on all that make up only to take it all back off again. Although, sitting on the college lawn watching all the geeks heading down the street in their Captain Kirk uniforms was pretty entertaining.<p>

Even Bonnibel would put down her notebook sometimes to watch with her. Comments were frequent, laughter was hushed and glances towards that one person who dressed up as a Dalek were covert. Bonnie could be surprisingly cruel and Marceline loved it.

Or she did until Bonnie surprised her by saying, "We should go one year."

Marceline's eyebrows disappeared into her fringe. "Excuse me what?"

Bonnie tilted her head back where it rested on Marceline's lap and blinked big green eyes at her. "As a group. You, me, Pippa, Jake, Finn, Hayden and Ellen. We should all go one year. Maybe in our last, we could coordinate outfits and all be from the same fandom."

"The fact that you even used the word 'fandom' scares me, Bon," she said flatly.

"Don't you think it would be fun?" Bonnie rolled upright and scooted closer so she was leaning against the tree beside Marceline. "Pippa, don't you think we should go to the con one year?"

Jake's head snapped up from reading something in his textbook. "I'm all aboard that train, Bonnie," he said, brightly. "I could go as Connor or… or Dean Winchester. I'd make a _great_ Dean."

Pippa rolled her eyes. "It might be fun," she said slowly. "What were you thinking? We'd all have to go as a group."

"Naturally," Bonnie concurred.

"I am _not_ dressing up as some idiot from a science fiction universe," Marceline said, pouting (holy crud she was pouting). She was adamant about it too. Arms folded and everything.

At least she was adamant until Bonnie leaned in and kissed her on the corner of her mouth, long and slow. Her heart thudded, unable to handle it. "You won't even go for _me_?" Bonnie asked against Marceline's mouth. Her tone was low and soft, her breath warm.

Marceline caved.

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll go. What are we dressing up as?"

"Star Wars," Bonnie replied decisively, looping her fingers into Marceline's.

Jake's smile widened. "Please tell me I'm Han." He made a gun with his fingers and fired at passing students.

"Of course. And Pippa is Princess Leia," Bonnie asserted. "And Finn is Luke, naturally."

"Wait," Marceline said. "Who are you then? Who am _I_? Who is everyone else?" She threw her free hand up in exasperation.

"You're R2-D2," Bonnie laughed.

Marceline glared.

"Oh don't be so upset. He's great. And," she murmured, leaning in again. "I'm C3-PO." And Marceline had to admit that it made so much sense.

"Bonnibel Banner, human cycle relations?" Marceline teased, getting a slap on the arm for her troubles.

"They did have a bit of a robromance," Bonnie muttered. "So just relax." Marceline could not believe Bonnie just said that.

"And Hayden?" Pippa pressed, taking advantage of Marceline's current loss for words.

"Mara Jade," Bonnie said as if it should be obvious. "Because she's incredibly scary."

Jake nodded. "I can actually see that. She could be a homicidal maniac… serial killer."

"Ninja," Bonnie supplied.

And Pippa added, "Pyromaniac."

"She's already a pyromaniac," Marceline joked. "And what about dear Eleanor?"

"Mon Mothma," Jake and Bonnie said at the same time, then burst out laughing.

"I don't get it," Marceline said. Then she glared at Bonnie. "And since when were you a Star Wars aficionado?"

Bonnibel lifted an eyebrow haughtily. "Star Wars is excellent, thank you. And Ellen is Mon Mothma because _many Bothans died to bring her this information_."

Marceline still didn't get it (she'd never seen Star Wars all the way through and Bonnie was horrified when she found out) but the others laughed themselves hysterical. Maybe it would be worth watching just to understand the joke.

Maybe.

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><p><strong>The original trilogy was best.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**No, I won't be angry if people don't get the references. I will however, tell you what they were. The first one was Clue: The Movie (based on Cluedo the board game) in which Tim Curry is a funny man and I couldn't help it. The second one was just Star Wars (although there's a cookie in there for anyone who's observant enough and I won't tell you what it is, but hopefully everyone has noticed that naming characters is a thing I enjoy *hinthint*).**

**There is no hidden reference in this one; I'll be nice. I was just listening to a sad song.**

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><p><strong>Piano<strong>

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><p>Piano is the most melancholy instrument in the universe. They say one plays best when they can channel emotion through themselves and into their instrument. If that's true, then Marceline Abadeer was more than metal and ink and shadows. She played the piano like an extension of her soul; haunting and gorgeous.<p>

Bonnie couldn't move her feet. She just stood in the doorway to the music room and watched, listening to the notes reverberating through the air. It was muffled slightly by the door and no sooner had her brain registered this as a shame than her hand was reaching for the knob. It turned, the door pushed open, Bonnie slipped inside. Marceline didn't notice.

The sound filled the room, coiling like smoke, filling her vision with fog. It was so… so sad. Bonnie had heard cheerful piano before, she'd heard upbeat and angry. But this… this contained such strong sorrow that she felt her heart trembling with it.

As the last note rang out, echoing, chilling, Marceline sighed.

"What song was that?" Bonnie asked softly.

Marceline jumped, spinning on the stool, her eyes wide. "Holy crap, brainiac. How long have you been there?"

"Long enough. The song?"

She shrugged, pushing dark hair behind her ear. "Just something that needed to be out."

Bonnie arched an eyebrow, incredulous. "You made it up?" It shouldn't really shock her. Marceline was a talented musician after all. She knew that.

"I guess." It was still a surprise.

"Well it was awful. I haven't wanted to cry like that in ages. Honestly." She huffed, but Marceline only smiled at her.

"Sorry… I guess."

Bonnibel shook her head. "No, I mean… It was beautiful. But next time, play me something happy, okay?"

Marceline smiled. "Sure. Whatever you want, princess."

"I'm going to pretend that wasn't creepy."

A slight frown creased Marceline's brow. "How was that in any way creepy?"

"Seriously? Everything you say is creepy."

"You just have a dirty mind for an angel." Marceline was smirking then, crossing the room to stand near the door.

Bonnibel snorted as Marceline pulled the door open for her. "If you had a problem with my mind being filthy you'd stop talking to me. But instead you call me in the middle of the night just to ask a stupid question about your maths homework. I'd say you _appreciate_ my ability to turn everything you say into an innuendo."

"I am your number one stalker," Marceline laughed.

"You're a weirdo is what you are."


	4. Chapter 4

**Something that might've been. This one is just for you, Shane. Enjoy. ;P Interpret how you will.**

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><p><strong>If You Take The Plunge, Have It Back By Thursday<strong>

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><p>This was his first time and she found herself wondering if he'd be able to finish. Of course, she was proud of him for even giving this a shot, but he'd admitted to 'performance jitters' in the past and she hoped he wouldn't be crippled by them now. Still, he looked nervous before he'd even begun, moist hair slicked to his skull, sweat glistening on his bare chest.<p>

Bianca's hand slipped in the liquid pooling on the bench; it covered most available surfaces. Given the nature of the activity, it wasn't really surprising that the furnishings (such as they were) were soaking. Wearing jeans had been a mistake, they itched unbearably.

All she could do was smile at him and hope Robert found a little extra courage to push him through. He flashed his teeth, running a hand through his curly orange tresses, obviously hoping he looked confident. Bianca wasn't fooled, there was anxiety written all over his face, in the depths of his beautiful green eyes. He worried that his performance would be lacklustre. She was positive he would be spectacular.

He leaned forward, bouncing a little, clearly trying to psych himself up. Robert tossed his head, flicking luscious locks free of his vision. His fingers turned to claws at his sides, fisting and unclenching a few times before at last relaxing completely.

Finally, he plunged.

Bianca gasped; thoroughly surprised by his grace and gentle manner. He broke the surface flawlessly, penetrating right to the depths like he was born to it. Her knuckles went white on the edge of the seat.

He was a ten out of ten (although she would've argued for eleven). His total dominance really could _not _be disputed. She'd have words with anyone who mentioned otherwise.

Bianca screamed.

She leapt to her feet, charging down the aisle to lean over the railing as Robert climbed out of the pool. The crowd roared their approval of his routine behind her. He hustled over to the wall and she threw her arms around his neck, heedless of the fact that he was dripping wet.

"You were fantastic," she laughed into his ear. "And you were worried."

"What was my score?" he asked softly, untangling himself to grab a towel.

"Ten," she replied happily. "You got tens from all three judges. How good is that?"

He blinked. "I got… I got a perfect score?"

"Yeah, you did! You crushed it. Wait until we tell Marceline."

Robert barked a laugh at that. "You know that diving is still an unmanly sport in her eyes," he said around a massive grin. "It doesn't matter how well I do, it's still a 'girly' activity. Like gymnastics."

Bianca affixed a mock apologetic expression to her face. "I hate to break it to you, Rob," she sighed solemnly. "But male gymnasts are _really_ nice to look at."

Reflexively, he looked down at his own washboard stomach. "What are you saying?" He pointed at his abdominals. "This isn't good enough for you?"

She ran her hands across his shoulders. "Puh-lease! You're awesome." She winked then before bending down to whisper, "And a girl loves a man who can cook."

He went bright red.

"Oh sure," she giggled. "_That's_ what makes you go crimson, not all of Marceline's crass jokes earlier."

"There were jokes?" He frowned in that adorable way he had. "Bee… what jokes? Did I miss them or something?"

She burst out laughing again. "Oh, sweetie, I think you must have." Bianca kissed his cheek softly. "But that's alright, I can demonstrate later."


	5. Chapter 5

**Because my brother misheard a name and this just happened. **

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><p><strong>The Butler<strong>

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><p>He is hers. Body, soul, mind; in any way he can serve her, he will. That is his role in life, in all of existence. He is beholden to her. He has done some strange things at her insistence, on her order, at her whim. Some of them are of questionable morality or fall somewhere in that funny little grey area where the law doesn't quite reach. Most of them are the kinds of saintly activities one would expect her to be involved in.<p>

He is dedicated to her in every way. He carries out her every request. And he never questions her word.

But that's not to say he doesn't perform _other_ tasks.

Occasionally, he would dabble in jobs that _weren't_ requested of him. Maybe they were loose ends, or frayed edges that unexpectedly arose. Maybe they were of a more personal nature, close to his heart – such as it was. Whichever classification they could fall under, they brought him to this.

And running a business of his own while lending his indomitable aid to another was quite the spectacular challenge. Success was a marvellous feat, if he did say so himself. And he was quite successful at that.

Of course, there was just one problem.

His line of work was in direct opposition to _hers_.

She didn't know about his extra-curricular activities, naturally, but should she ever find out he could only imagine the fall out. That would be something to witness. Cataclysmic and beautiful both.

Consequently, his apathetic façade trembled, cracked a little, when that tall detective came a-calling one clear spring morning. He pulled the door in, fully expecting a delivery that day, just not of the sort he was met by. This was honestly the _least_ enjoyable way to lead off his day.

"Sup, Butler," the detective said, chewing a wad of gum. "Is the good doctor here?"

He blinked, trying to contain the natural instinct to panic when greeted by the law. "In her study," he replied softly, stepping aside. It could only be hoped that the detective would disregard him, as usual, and focus her attentions on the woman she was here to see. And she was _so_ good at focusing in this area. "Wipe your feet and use manners."

She chuckled, throwing him a lazy smirk. "I suppose I can try," she taunted. "Since you asked so nicely and all." She waved him off, knowing how to get to the study. Well she should, she'd walked that path more times than he could count.

He frowned after her, of the honest opinion that she spent far too much time with his mistress. Just this once – in breach of his rigid code of ethics – he trailed her down the hall to the study door. She went in. He stopped in the doorway.

The detective was met by a cheerful, "Marceline! You didn't tell me you were stopping by."

"Oof! Ease up there, doc," Marceline teased. "No need to strangle me."

"What's the occasion?"

The sound of papers shuffling whispered to the doorway. "New case. Folks have been dying from overdoses but our techs don't know what the mixture is. Possibly some sort of new drug."

More quiet sounds; no doubt his mistress was leafing through the papers now. He could picture her frowning, glasses sliding down her nose. "You want me to identify it then, yes?"

"I didn't want to ask, Bonnie," Marceline murmured. "But there are nearly thirty deceased already. Any more and we won't be able to contain the press and we'll have riots. Per your butler's instructions, I'm using manners. Will you please help?"

There was a pause then, before he heard Bonnie sigh – more from amusement than frustration, he thought. "Of course. Let me just grab my coat. Do I have to worry about your techs calling it something silly again? Wasn't the last one called Ooze?"

"They're overly enthusiastic, apologies," Marceline groaned. "And yes. They've dubbed this one because of how it smells. Apparently the new intern called it Toothpaste but it didn't catch on. So… now they're calling it Peppermint."

Bonnie laughed wryly. "How catchy."

"Don't encourage them."

He slithered back from the door, feet shuffling. This was definitely not good. Hastening silently down the hall, he pulled out his phone, punching in a number.

"Gary speaking," his distribution manager muttered into the phone.

"This is the Butler. We have containment to do."

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><p><strong><strong>Apologies to Mr Gerard Butler whose name was the offender. <strong>My bro heard 'Drug Butler' and now he's a criminal mastermind. I'm so sorry.**


	6. Chapter 6

**This is as _close_ as you'll ever get. :P But, gotta practice, right?**

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><p><strong>As Good As Something Gets<strong>

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><p>Something about the wall at her back, the way she pressed into it. Something about the hands on her hips, fingers turning to claws in her belt loops, fiddling with the zipper of her jeans. Something about the taste of strawberries in her mouth when she <em>knew<em> she hadn't had anything of the sort lately. Something about the feel of her top button coming loose.

Something about the name on her lips that her brain wasn't functioning well enough to spit out. So instead of coherent sounds, all she gave was a sigh. And maybe a moan too, but it was hard to tell. Everything was hard to tell when Marceline's fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt, grazed her ribs, when her tongue drew strange shapes on the roof of her mouth, when her leg did… _that_. God.

There was something about the way Marceline's eyes were nearly black instead of nearly blue when she pulled away momentarily. Something that took a while to register. Something made her panic.

"Stop," she gasped, regaining enough awareness to push pathetically at Marceline's hands. "Wait."

Instantly, Marceline's hands vanished and she was a decent stride across the room, eyes wide with… with _fear_. "No good?" she tried to quip. But her voice was raspy, raw from inhaling Bonnie's perfume, from the taste of apples in her lip gloss. It gave her away.

And it made the warble in her tone tremble through Bonnie, too. "Too good," she whispered, correcting the assumption. "What are we doing?"

Hesitantly, Marceline shuffled a half-step closer; hands fidgeting, unsure of what to do. She tried a smile. It was transparent. "Seemed self-explanatory to me," she muttered.

Bonnie's hands kneaded the air at her sides, desperately wanting to reach for Marceline again. Why there was any amount of confliction at all in her mind, she wasn't sure. But it was there, a niggling doubt, worry. Her own spiralling fear.

"If you want me to go…" Marceline murmured, shrugging in the general direction of the door. "I can go. I can not come back… If that's what you want?"

_Is it? Do you want her to walk away?_

"No," she exhaled. "Stay. I just…"

Marceline took the offer and assumed it meant contact was allowed. She lifted one hand to Bonnie's face. "Hey. What's eating you up, huh?"

"I don't…" The look on Marceline's face told her that wouldn't be believed. "It feels _wrong_."

"Why?"

_Why_? The question reverberated through her skull, bouncing off the walls. In its wake, an answer followed, taunting her; just out of reach. _Why? Because it's… it's…_

"It's not enough," she finished aloud. Warily, she met Marceline's gaze. "I can't be okay with this. It's too nebulous… too undefined, for me."

This time, when she smiled, it arched a little higher, blurring softly around the edges. Marceline rested her forehead against Bonnie's. "I thought you didn't want commitment with me. That I'm too 'flighty'."

"I didn't say that," Bonnie replied, unable to stop staring at Marceline's mouth. Her fingers tentatively tracing the line, the curve at the corners, drifting across her cheek. A smile of her own flickered when Marceline's eyes fluttered shut. "I was alright with temporary when it was impersonal, when it was just hand holding and–"

"And making out with me behind your dad's shed," she added blithely.

Bonnie could feel the red in her cheeks but she forced it back down. "I'm not okay with that anymore." Her voice sounded small even to her ears as her hands wound into Marceline's button down, drawing her closer. "I need more than that."

Before she'd even realised, Marceline had her up against the wall of her room again. "How much more," she enquired, voice husky at her ear, tickling.

"All of you."

Marceline kissed her gently before she could say more, but that didn't stop the thoughts whirling through her head. Those thoughts vaporised when Marceline finally managed to unbuckle her belt though, knee right back where it had been before. Thinking was too hard. _Way_ too hard.

Her skin burned even as cool night air swept underneath her shirt, the article whisked across her room, Marceline's fingers leaving trails of light across her ribs, her stomach. Somehow, with her hands in Marceline's hair, wrapped tight around her neck, a single thought burst to life.

"Girlfriend," she panted when Marceline's mouth found her throat.

"Hm?"

"Be my girlfriend."

Marceline's eyes flashed with mischief. "You sure?"

"Absolutely."

The smile on Marceline's face was blinding, confusingly, her pupils were so dilated that Bonnie had to acknowledge (even through the haze filling her head) that it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the amount of light in the room.

Marceline's shirt flashed next, landing on the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

But they weren't using their eyes anymore anyway.

This was about the _feeling_.

This was about as good as something gets.


	7. Chapter 7

**Um... yeah. This happened while I was listening to Lorde the other day. Something about the song made me want to write. So I did.**

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><p><strong>Everybody Wants To Rule The World<strong>

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><p>"Everybody wants to rule the world," Bubblegum said with a frown and a sour twist to her delicate mouth.<p>

Marceline only smirked and lolled forward to pluck the gleaming crown from her head. "Oh, I'm not here for your crown, princess," she said darkly, tossing the item over her shoulder and out the window. It pinged once on the balcony rail before plummeting into the dark of the night. Marceline rocked a little closer in the air, nearly nose-to-nose with Bubblegum now. "I don't want your money," she growled. "Or your crown. See, I've come to burn your kingdom down."

There was laughter in Marceline's crimson eyes that Bubblegum could only counter with steely resolve.

"You're going to pry it from my cold, dead hands," she whispered up at the vampire. To her unending ire, this seemed only to amuse her. "You can't have my kingdom."

"You've missed the point, kiddo," the other woman laughed. "You can't stop me, because I don't care how much of your pretty little heart-attack house I destroy. In fact, reducing it to rubble is kinda the point."

"Finn will stop you."

Marceline held up a hand at what would've been hip-height if she hadn't been floating. "The blonde kid? Oh… he's all _tied up_ right now, your majesty." The vampire drifted closer, circling her but Bubblegum refused to do more than glare out the window. "He's… _buried_ in work, actually." She barked a laugh then, no doubt amused by whatever wit she thought she was displaying. "You're all alone."

The bones of a resigned sigh blew through Bubblegum's lips. Not that she'd ever admit defeat, but Marceline was a force to be reckoned with. There was no telling what she'd do if Bubblegum resisted.

So all she did was twist her glower on the vampire and mutter, "Why? What do you gain from this?"

"Oh, Bonnie," she _tsked_. "You really can't see the gain for me in this? How narrow minded of you." Once again she pushed her face into Bubblegum's personal space. "I'm taking away your _responsibility_," she hissed.

And then it all fell into place. "That's childish," Bubblegum scoffed. "Burning my world to the ground won't accomplish anything to _that_ end."

Marceline's arched eyebrow voiced the 'oh really' so much better than words could ever have.

"You can't take away almost everything that's ever meant anything to me and expect me to harbour any sort of emotion outside of resentment for you," Bubblegum explained deadpan, hoping none of the desperation coiling in her stomach oozed through. But Marceline was too lost in her own imagined slights to notice nuance anyway.

"Almost everything? Your kingdom is the only thing in the world that matters to you," Marceline sneered. "Finn is just your knight, to be used and abused until he's broken. Your people are an excuse, a shield to hide behind while you tinker on crazy laboratory experiments. But you don't care about _those_ either. You just toss them aside when they don't work." Marceline lowered herself so they were eye to eye and her face twisted with distaste and… and her own form of desperation. "And _I_ certainly never meant a damn thing to you."

There was rage building in Marceline's eyes that Bubblegum had no idea how to counter. She wanted to voice all the arguments to her theory, all the reasons that, well, no, she did care an awful lot about Marceline and there's a photo in her closet to prove it. But this was a long time in coming. Marceline was beyond reason and probably had been for a while.

With a heavy sigh, she collapsed onto the edge of her bed, reconciled – fatalistic about whatever the fates might have in store for her now. Marceline sat with her, finally dropping out of the air to dip the bed beside her. There would be no kingdom to rule come morning.

Together they watched out across her balcony as her city burned.


End file.
